


The Man with the Golden Earring

by FeatheredShadow



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, also d'Artagnan pops up at the end, could be read as slash too though so, except that apparently I can't write without trying to bring some angst in, not sure it's really a character study or whatever, what do I know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredShadow/pseuds/FeatheredShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he meets Porthos, who must be close to his twentieth year, he doesn’t know anything about him, safe for the fact that he is sitting on a barrel on the docks, eating an apple lazily and watching people go about their business with cat’s eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>[Making a Musketeer out of Porthos was a great source of pride for the Captain Tréville.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man with the Golden Earring

**Author's Note:**

> Cheating a bit with history and making the creation of the Musketeers in 1620. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The Musketeers belong to the BBC and the show itself is based on the great novel by Alexandre Dumas. 
> 
> Many thanks to my dear Anique, without whom this fic wouldn't be as good.

**The Man with the Golden Earring**

**1.**

The first time he meets Porthos, who must be close to his twentieth year, he doesn’t know anything about him, safe for the fact that he is sitting on a barrel on the docks, eating an apple lazily and watching people go about their business with cat’s eyes. He is surrounded by people as young (or even younger) than him, all dressed up in secondhand clothes which had known better days. He hadn’t really noticed him at first, busy as he was stopping his men from starting a riot with all the people walking around – he had seen the silver of a dozen of knives on his way to the altercation – but becomes aware the weight of his stare on his back really quickly. Voices are rising and he has to physically place himself between his men – on edge since they know they are soon to be turned into the King’s Musketeers – and a couple of workers protesting they have been insulted first. It is a dangerous place to be right now, and he is trying – in vain – to calm down the situation when Porthos rises. He doesn’t understand why there are so many whispers and hushes at first, but soon realizes why when he sees him walking over to them, a tall, bulky man who still isn’t as built as he could be.

“It would be better to consider leaving now, Captain,” Porthos says in a calm voice, placing himself beside the insulted men.

He takes a look around, watches how everyone is looking at them with a firm stare and nods. He doesn’t need to be told twice, not in that kind of situation, and pushes his men around, willing them to let the matter drop. He doesn’t have to speak for that, and they are smart enough to obey him without any complaint. Once they have reached the safer streets of Paris, he turns around and sees the silhouette of Porthos, standing where he left him, still looking at them. The encounter doesn’t really leave his mind.

**2.**

He meets Porthos for the second time a couple of weeks later. The Musketeers garrison is not three weeks old and his men are still roaming the Parisian streets freely, getting acquainted with their new powers and testing their limits. He mostly lets them do as they wish, but he is careful to smooth things out with Richelieu, who clearly isn’t appreciating the garrison. But the King is, and the Queen seems satisfied too, so the cardinal's complaints fall on deaf ears.

This time he is walking around the streets of Paris with Aramis and Marsac trailing behind him, the former asking questions about the organization of the garrison. The stroll is pretty calm, until they come close to the Court of Miracles, and realize a brawl is taking place in the street just before the entry of the Court, involving three musketeers. He frowns and makes his way to the place where the brawl is taking place, the crowd opening before him and the two musketeers following him. (Like puppies, he often thinks, but would never dare to say. They are killers, after all.)

He arrives just in time to see Porthos fighting against two of his men, using his strength more than refined skills to hold them off, while the third of his men is holding a young girl barely older than thirteen, all bones and angles. He opens his mouth to make himself known to the duelists when Porthos throws one of his opponents into the nearest all so hard that his man is knocked out by the impact. Aramis snorts behind him and he closes his mouth, a bit impressed by what he is seeing.

He clears his throat loud enough to interrupt them in their duel, and they both turn towards him, Porthos looking pissed as hell – which is, in all honestly, not very reassuring, compared to his calm demure attitude on the docks a few weeks ago – and his musketeer having the good grace of looking ashamed.

“What is happening here?!”  
“They assaulted me!” the young woman yelps, and the musketeer holding her eases his grip. “And _he_ came to help me!”

Ah. He can already see the crowd growing, and people coming from the Court of Miracles, only a few feet away. He feels Aramis and Marsac coming closer to him, their coats shifting.

“Well? Is that true?”

It is disappointing to see his musketeers looking at each other, searching for a good way to get themselves out of this situation with their heads held high. Porthos is still holding his sword in a defensive stance, and he can’t help but notice how proud his stance is.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

The young woman seems furious, like a cat ready to storm out, and already his musketeer is letting her go. She goes to stand near Porthos, just a foot behind him, and he _really_ looks at her. Probably an apprentice with some seamstress, considering how neatly (and with which fabrics) her clothes are put together.

“I am merely waiting for a confirmation from my men,” he answers with calm, and feels rewarded once Porthos drops his sword slightly, and nods to the girl.

She gives them a dark look and almost runs away towards the Court, the crowd opening and closing swiftly around her. Looking back at Porthos, he realizes he should have guessed he was from the Court earlier, with his clothes, stance and the bunch of young men following him around, their eyes fixed on him and his musketeers. They are in a not-so-good situation right now, and he will have to be diplomatic to get out of here without a promise of retribution for the insult towards the girl.

“Take him and leave,” he finally says to his men, indicating the still unconscious musketeer lying on the ground.

They are quick enough to obey and he follows them, but not before giving some money to a woman sitting on the ground and tipping the end of his hat towards Porthos, hoping it will be enough to walk out without any injuries. The situation is tense for a few moments, but Porthos finally nods back and he walks away, silently thanking God for this not-so-small favor.

He is starting to want Porthos within his men, rather than having him waste his time (and talent) at the Court of Miracles.

**3.**

He has Aramis and Marsac keeping an eye on him for the next few weeks, between two missions. Marsac doesn’t like it, would rather be on standing duty at the palace for all it’s worth (he knows how much it annoys Richelieu to have musketeers around) but Aramis doesn’t mind, and this is all he cares for. Aramis is _interested_ in the world, is always ready to offer a chance to people, to get to know them better, and Porthos sure is a matter of curiosity for him. They are talking about it one evening, a bottle of wine between them, the young man having brought him his supper.

“All he needs is someone helping him with the sword training,” Aramis insists, not knowing he is talking to someone who is already convinced of that. “He has all the qualities to make a good musketeer: loyalty, honor, readiness to protect and defend those who can’t…”  
“I doubt your fellow musketeers would accept him as readily as you,” he points out, and sees Aramis blinking and avoiding his eyes, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Ah. _Someone_ is already thinking of the young Porthos as a musketeer.

“They would soon accept him once they have seen him in action,” Aramis continues, turning his eyes towards the cross hanging over one of the windows. “I’ve seen what he does when he is outside the Court of Miracles, and heard a lot of talk about him, though I’m not sure how much of it is rumor and how much is truth,” he adds hastily, “but he seems fit enough for the garrison.”

He nods, and Aramis looks really relieved. All they need now is to convince Porthos to join them, which is, as far as they know, clearly not the easiest part.

**4.**

Especially after not seeing him anywhere in the city during the next few weeks. Aramis isn’t too bothered in the first few weeks, knows that people sometimes don’t leave the Court of Miracles for weeks at a time, but grows more impatient and even worried as the weeks turn into months, and the months into a year. They are losing hope of seeing him again when Marsac catches the young girl who had been involved in the brawl, and brings her to his office.

“What do you want with me?” She is hostile, straight as a bow on the chair, and looks at him like he is the reason she is here – which, all things considered, is not wrong.  
“I am looking for a man from the court,” he explains with a calm voice. “For Porthos.”

Her frown intensifies.

“What do you want with him?”  
“I want to recruit him.”

She looks like the incarnation of suspicion, looks at his face, expecting to find evidence of a lie, but finally decides he is speaking the truth. She straightens her back, opens her mouth and finally answers his question.

“He left a year ago, on the _Belle France_. He said he wanted to discover the sea, and the captain has a very good reputation, he works mainly with Anvers and Dover, you know? He said it was safe enough for him to go.”

She stays silent after that and he nods slowly. The reasoning behind his decision is not wrong, the ship-owner has a reputation of not dealing with the Americas, which would always be a risk for Porthos, and he would never have any problem answering to him. He thanks the girl, lets her leave, and calls Aramis in to share the news. They will have to wait, now.

**5.**

Surprisingly enough, it’s Edmond who brings news of Porthos – Edmond who had never said a word against the man, even though he had thrown him against a wall in that fight three years ago. He is on patrol duty but goes back to the garrison as soon as he sees him walking on the docks – everyone knows of his project by now. He shares the few bits of information he manages to get – the _Belle France_ having made a few travels since it left Paris three years ago – and tells him that Porthos will probably spent the evening at the _Dancing Siren_ , an inn where both honest and not-so-honest sailors usually go once they are back on dry land.

So in the evening, once he manages to get free of the paperwork, he walks to the docks, beggars avoiding him as well as thieves, and finally gets to the _Dancing Siren_. He takes a look through the window, restrains himself from smiling too much at seeing Porthos there, and enters the inn, walking straight to the young man. The sea did him good, he notices, safe for the scar over his left eye. But he has a bandana in his hair now, and wears proudly a golden earring, and he is eating like a man who hasn’t seen any meat in _months_. A true sailor.

“Good evening to you, Porthos,” he says while sitting next to the young man, his business face on.  
“Good evening captain,” Porthos answers after swallowing, looking at him with curiosity and a hint of suspicion, but not bothering to stop eating for so little. “What do you want from me?” he asks after a few minutes, his plate nearly cleaned, reaching for his cup of ale.  
“I have a proposition for you,” he answers while bending towards the young man, hoping he will get out of the inn with a success.  
“A proposition,” Porthos repeats slowly, looking him right in the eyes, suspicion growing. “What kind of proposition?”  
“I would like you to, if you agree, join the King’s Musketeers.”

Porthos puts his cup back on the table very slowly, eyebrows rising so high he can almost see them disappearing under the bandana.

“Me. Join the _Musketeers_.”

Oh, he can hear a little hint of _want_ behind the brusque voice.

“With all due respect, I have a hard time believing you, captain,” Porthos goes on, his grasp firm on his fork. “I doubt someone like me has a place within the Musketeers…”  
“There is always a place for good swordsmen in the Musketeers. For honorable men who care about those who can’t protect themselves. Men who aren’t afraid to face danger.”

Porthos is flattered. No, _honored_ by his words, but still hesitates, he sees it clearly. A little push is needed…

“I doubt the King would accept someone like _me_ in the garrison,” Porthos finally objects after a few moments of silence, his plate cleaned.  
“There won’t be any problem if you are a free man,” he answers carefully after having taken the time to think about Porthos’s most important objection. “Listen to me, Porthos. I have been wanting to make you this offer since you fought off two of the musketeers to protect a young girl. I know you have the skills required to be a musketeer, I know you have your heart in the right place, and I know the King cares about his protection and the protection of France, not about where his musketeers come from.” He barely stops to take a breath, and goes on. “It is possible that my men will be harder on you than on other candidates, but some of them are really interested in fighting _with_ you, and not against you. Please consider this. The doors of the garrison will always be open to you.”

Porthos stays silent a long time, eyes fixed on his cup, then raises his head, looks at him and nods again. He sighs, rises from his chair, tips his hat towards the young man and leaves the inn, not sure if he was convincing enough. Perhaps he didn’t use the right arguments, perhaps this isn’t the life Porthos is looking for, perhaps…

Perhaps he misjudged him.

**6.**

Turns out he didn’t. Porthos enters the doors of the garrison one week after their conversation, looking as stiff as it humanly possible to look and comes right to his office, Aramis trailing like an eager puppy, Marsac following, clearly not amused by the situation. (These two are a bit exclusive, and he needs to separate them more, but it’s difficult to find musketeers who are complementary to one of them. Though perhaps it will change, now…)

As he expected, the first weeks (months, even) in the garrison are difficult. His men have always been harsh on the musketeers-in-training, but they are very hard on Porthos, eager to see him fail. Not all of them, of course: Aramis has taken an immediate fondness in him, and surprisingly enough, Edmond too. The two are in charge of his training, taking him on missions (some very difficult, because it’s the easiest way to stop the gossip) and his men finally stop snapping at him. He doesn’t forget, though, and knows Porthos doesn’t either – his tendency to spend more time with Aramis and Edmond than with anyone else in the garrison shows it well.

He looks after him, always feeling even more responsible than he usually does for the newest recruits, and overhears when Aramis offers to bring Porthos to Bonacieux, “until you find something more permanent, of course, but Mistress Bonacieux is a lovely woman and she always has a place for a musketeer”, and he smiles in his mustache when he sees that the young woman has taken Porthos under her wing.

This is, in the end, a job well done.

**7.**

Two years go by peacefully – well, as peacefully as possible – and Porthos is as well accepted by his fellow musketeers as everyone else, when Athos enters his office. The man smells like a barrel of wine but is sober when he speaks – or at least convincing enough – and it is with no difficulties that he allows him to join the King’s Musketeers. He keeps a close eye on him during the first days, checking how it goes with the other musketeers, but there is no reason to fear anything. He is the best swordsman of the garrison, and by a long shot, a loner too, and nobody tries to interact with him too much. He puts him on missions with Porthos and Aramis, convinced these two have the best shot at making him talk – Aramis the charmer and Porthos the easy-going guy – but as far as he can tell, they aren’t very successful.

This doesn’t last for a long time though, because Athos hasn’t been here for as long as a month when the mission in Savoy occurs, and the destruction of his musketeers with it. Porthos and Athos are part of the rescue mission, and Athos actually is the one to take charge of things, ordering fellow musketeers around and taking care of everything, less touched by the twenty deaths than the rest of the musketeers.

He looks closely at his musketeers in the following weeks, making sure no one is going to do something stupid, and listening for any news of Marsac. Aramis seems destroyed by what happened, and he is glad he has Porthos to look after him – friends are too precious in times like these. He is a bit fascinated by how Porthos finds himself between two men over the edge and how he manages to bring them back every single time. Porthos is a steady presence, and this a rare treasure, always to be cherished.

Really, he made a good decision the day he decided to make a musketeer out of Porthos.

**8.**

On the other hand, making a musketeer out of Athos was perhaps not the best idea he has had. Sure, he is a great swordsman, but quite reckless in fights, with no care for his health (or his life), and more than once his fellow musketeers have been hurt while covering his back. They don’t realize it at first, but _he_ notices it and doesn’t like this trend. He has too little left of his men for now and doesn’t want anyone to be hurt when this isn’t necessary.

He doesn’t have the _time_ to intervene though, because two months after Savoy, during what should have been a very regular mission, Porthos gets hurt _badly_ , bad enough for Aramis to snap out of the void that had seemed to be filling him, lose his nerve and almost knock Athos out on their way back to Paris – Edmond’s words. He doesn’t know who looks more livid between Athos and Aramis – though Porthos is obviously worse because of the blood loss – and walks in on Aramis pushing Athos against a wall in the infirmary, dried blood still on his hands, the physician taking care of the wounded.

“If Porthos dies, I will never forgive you,” he hisses, his face barely inches apart from Athos’s. “ _Never_.”

He releases him with a growl and Athos looks at him going back to Porthos’s bed, before turning his back and leaving the room.

“Athos.”

His voice stops the man in the corridor.

“I expect you to be around once Porthos wakes up,” he states in a firm voice, stepping away from the shadows he was hiding in.  
“Yes, sir.” Athos answers after a long moment of silence, before leaving again.

He doesn’t leave for good and is around when Porthos wakes up the second time, Aramis snoozing in the corner of the room. He himself is here, standing in the shadows again, ready to step in if things go wrong. There is no need to, as he watches Athos helping Porthos to sit in a comfortable way, with pillows to support him, before going back to his chair.

“I would like to offer you my apologizes for what happened,” Athos starts in a low voice, his eyes fixed on his hands, not daring to look at Porthos. “My behavior endangered both you and Aramis, and you wouldn’t be in this bed if it wasn’t for me.”

He stops, takes a deep breath and finally raises his head, looking at Porthos, whose eyes have been fixed on him since he woke up.

“I am sorry. This won’t happen again.”

Porthos raises his eyebrows.

“How can you be so sure of that?”

Athos looks at him, startled.

“I will be more careful in the future, I will not put myself in dangerous situations if it is not needed,” he answers with a deep sincerity – and, yes, he is sure he can hear fear too. “If you are still willing to accept me as your partner in missions, of course.”

Aramis snores a bit more loudly and they both turn their heads to look at him, still curled up in what is a very uncomfortable chair. A little smile appears on Porthos’s lips, and doesn’t disappear once he brings his attention back to Athos.

“I forgive you,” he finally says, and clasps his hand on Athos’s knee. “Though I won’t promise Aramis will be doing the same as quickly…”

Simple like that. Porthos tilts his head to the side and his smile expands in front Athos’s surprised, then delighted face. This is probably the first time he has smiled like that since his arrival at the musketeers’ garrison, and it is a very good thing it’s due to Porthos’s friendship.

And Aramis will need more time to forgive Athos indeed, but it will happen eventually – and probably sooner than later.

**9.**

During the following years, he watches with surprise – and delight, because there is nothing better for his men than to be friends together – as Athos slowly becomes part of the little group made up of Aramis and Porthos. The three of them together are his best team – and by far – every single one of them complementing the others in one way or another. They are not only great on their missions, but also in their personal lives – and yes, he keeps an eye on this too.

He knows Athos has suffered a great loss, which is what brought him here in the first place, but it’s comforting to see him slowly becoming closer to his friends, allowing himself to be close to people again. He is the quiet kind, and gestures mean a lot to him, something Porthos and Aramis pick on really quickly. His men make physical contact easily – because they deal with death quite regularly, after all – and it helps Athos to share these simple gestures. It keeps him – them – grounded and it is too much of a blessing for all of them to ignore it.

Really, a great team is creating itself in front of his eyes.

**10.**

The three of them are a finely-geared machine by the time d’Artagnan arrives. It is quite unexpected, especially given the circumstances of his arrival (trying to kill Athos! and helping to save him!) but he soon realizes how well the young Gascon boy works with his musketeers. They don’t have a lot of missions together yet but it is as clear as day that the four of them will probably be the greatest team of musketeers France will ever know.

And he is quite proud of his part in it.


End file.
